War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  But before I could think through a reply, a loud crash came from the other side of the room. We turned to find Junior reaching out for an overturned basket of peach soap. “No, Junior!” Ida cried, running over to yank away a bar of soap making its way to his mouth. Thwarted, he balled his little hands into fists and let out an ear-piercing scream. In return, Ida let out an exasperated sigh. “I best get him home for his morning nap,” she said, swinging him up to her hip. “But you’ll think about what I said, won’t you? I just couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to Daddy.”

  “Me either,” I said, leaning in for a quick good-bye hug, keeping my hand up to block Junior’s probing fingers. “Me either.”

  * * *

  After Ida and the toddling terror left, I busied myself catching up on work around the shop. But while I packaged baskets for shipping, my mind kept wandering to our family’s current dilemma. Ida was right about one thing: all this stress couldn’t be good for either of our parents. I thought back to the day before at the sheriff’s office. Daddy had looked pale and drawn, and Mama was so upset . . . I tried to shake off the image, preferring instead to think of my parents as I’d always seen them: invincible, young and vibrant. Oh, I knew they had stress with the farm and raising a family. But they’d always been able to overcome that stress and persevere through the hard times. Lately, though, something had changed. Slowly at first, and just little things. Things like my father’s bad back and now his heart palpitations and Mama needing her reading glasses for even the large print. It was a little disorienting to admit that they were getting older, to think that one day they might . . . I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the thought.

  The bells above my door jingled again, pulling me from my pessimistic thoughts. A couple ladies breezed in, carrying small foam leftover containers from the diner next door. I blinked a couple times and put on my best shopkeeper’s smile. “Morning, ladies.” I recognized these two from church, acquaintances of Mama’s, but couldn’t quite recall their names. “Just let me know if there’s something I can help you with.”

  The door opened again, and this time, unfortunately, I definitely knew the visitor—Frances Simms. I immediately bristled. “Good morning, Frances. Are you here about a monthly ad?” About once a week, Frances stopped into my shop to pester me about taking out a monthly line ad in the Cays Mill Reporter. So far, I’d held off, not wanting to give my financial support to her gossip-spreading tabloid. “Because, I’m really not interest—”

  “Nope. I’m not here about the ad,” she said, a tiny smirk playing on her normally pinched lips as she sauntered about. “Looks like you’ve expanded your inventory.”

  I nodded and glanced toward the ladies, who were busy sniffing the soap. “Those are all natural and handcrafted locally,” I threw out, trying to entice a sale and sort of hoping they’d hurry up and finish their shopping. Because I recognized that hungry look in Frances’s eyes—she was hot on the trail of a story. And that story, undoubtedly, was Clem Roger’s murder. And if she was here, that could only mean one thing: she’d found out that Daddy was a suspect.

  “Did you happen to see the special edition of the Cays Mill Reporter this week?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, sorry. I must’ve missed it.”

  “Well, I was going to put out a special edition to cover the mayoral debate, but as it turned out there was a much bigger story.”

  I nodded and smiled tightly. “Sure was.” I looked back over at the ladies, who were still sniffing, and said, “Special sale on soaps this morning. Twenty percent off.” There was no such thing, but I hoped to get them moving along. “Would you ladies like me to wrap up a couple bars for you?”

  Frances stepped in my line of sight. “I was just over at the diner, having a cup of coffee. Heard something interesting about Clem Rogers’s murder.”

  I craned my neck and saw that the ladies had stopped sniffing and started listening. Oh boy.

  Frances leaned against the counter, casually folding her arms across her chest as if she was staying for a while. “Heard your daddy had been talking to the sheriff and apparently needed that lawyer brother of yours at his side. Then I also found out your daddy was out at Clem’s place just minutes before the fire started.” I saw the women exchange surprised looks, grab a few bars of soap and scurry to the cash register.

  My heart started pounding in my throat. I swallowed hard as one of the ladies placed soap on the counter. “These are just lovely,” she said with a sappy smile. “I’ve decided on these three, but could you bag them individually? I’m giving them as gifts.”

  “Certainly,” I said, ringing up her purchase.

  “Funny thing that he’d be out visiting Clem,” Frances went on. “I didn’t think he and your daddy were on friendly terms.”

  The women exchanged a knowing look, their eyes gleaming with excitement. Anticipating, no doubt, a piece of juicy gossip. I quickly made change and pulled out tissue and three small, handled bags and started wrapping the soaps.

  “Of course,” Frances continued, “maybe your daddy wasn’t paying Clem a friendly visit.”

  A piece of tissue stuck to my suddenly moist palm. “I don’t know what you mean by that. Clem just lives up the road from our place. You know how it is in the country. We’re all”—I searched for the right word—“neighborly with each other.”

  “That’s true, Frances,” one of the ladies said. “Country folks can be right friendly with their neighbors.”

  I nodded and sent an appreciative smile her way, narrowing my eyes instead when I noticed the little smirk that played on her lips.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve heard that about country folk.” Frances chuckled.

  Personally, I didn’t get what was amusing. But who cared, as long as Frances didn’t know the real reason Daddy had gone to Clem’s that day when they fought over the peach deal. Of course, I knew all that had absolutely nothing to do with Clem’s death, but Frances could stretch the truth six ways to Sunday.

  The sound of the door opening drew everyone’s attention. This time Ginny burst inside, an oversized bag in her hand. “Sorry I couldn’t get away ’til now,” she said.

  I scrunched my face. “Huh?”

  She pointed to the bag slung over her wrist and raised a brow. “That errand you promised to help me with.” She crossed the room. “Hello, ladies. Sorry to interrupt your shopping, but I need to borrow Nola for a little while.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but the flushed look on her face told me something was up. I handed over the neatly packaged soaps and smiled at the ladies. “Please come back soon.”

  As they headed for the door, Ginny turned to Frances and said, “And I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ to get out to the high school to cover the breaking news.”

  Frances’s squinty eyes popped with surprise. “Breaking news?”

  Ginny touched her cheek dramatically. “Oh, I’m surprised you haven’t heard. There’s an entire set of bleachers missin’ from the football field. It’s caused quite the ruckus. Guess the principal’s fit to be tied.”

  Frances was already on her way to the door. “I’ll catch up with you later, Nola,” she said over her shoulder.

  As soon as the door shut, I turned to Ginny. “What’s all this about?”

  “Oh, probably just some kids playing a prank.”

  “Not the bleachers. This errand you said I promised to run with you. I don’t remember—”

  “To take these peach cakes out to Tessa.” She pointed to the bag in her arms. “I figured, due to the circumstances”—she dipped her head toward the door—“we’d best alter our schedule a bit. Go now, before the lunch crowd shows for the diner.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Those two old biddies who just left?”

  “‘Old biddies’? That’s not v
ery nice.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, it’s a heck of a lot nicer than what I really want to call them.” She blew out a long stream of air, lifting a few red curls off her forehead. “They were in the diner this morning, talking about your mama.”

  “Mama?” I could feel my muscles tensing. “What were they saying about my mother?”

  Ginny glanced about uneasily. “Easy now, Nola. Why don’t you take a break and come with me to drop off these cakes? We can talk all about it on the road.”

  Chapter 6

  Southern Girl Secret #078: You know your family roots are strong when other peoples’ hot wind can’t knock you down.

  We decided to take my truck out to the Rogers farm. No sooner had we left the square than I turned to Ginny and demanded to know what people were saying. “And don’t hold anything back, either. I want to know every single lie the local gossip-slinging snips are making up about my mama.”

  Ginny seemed to shrivel in her seat. “Well, no one came right out and said anything nasty, if that’s what you’re thinking. Mostly just innuendos.”

  I took the turn onto a local access road a little sharper than intended. Ginny reached out and grasped the inside door handle to steady herself. “Innuendos about what?” I asked.

  She took a deep breath. “About your mama and Clem Rogers. Being . . . friendly.”

  I cranked the wheel and came to a screeching halt on the side of the road and turned to face her. “What? Clem Rogers and my mother? You’ve got to be kidding me! My family and Clem don’t even get along well as neighbors! These people around here can be such—”

  “I know.” She held up her hand. “But it seems this was a long time ago. Before you were even born.”

  “I don’t understand. What exactly are we talking about? Did they date, or something?” I tried to estimate Clem’s age. It could have been that they were in school together. “What’s the big deal about that?”

  Ginny shrugged. “Beats me. I just caught bits and pieces of the talk. You know how it is at the diner. Next to the Clip and Curl, it’s the town’s hub of gossip.”

  That was true. If a person sat in the diner long enough, they’d hear just about everything going on in the county. Still, this didn’t sound as bad as she’d first made it out to be. My heart rate had calmed enough for me to continue driving, so I put the truck back in gear and continued toward the Rogers farm. “It’s weird Mama never mentioned anything to me about her and Clem having any sort of past relationship,” I said, watching the road for my next turn. “She’s told me about some of her other high school boyfriends. You know, stories about her first date, first dance and all that type of stuff.”

  “Well, from what I gathered, this happened when your Daddy was away in the service.”

  “‘This’? What do you mean by ‘this’? ‘This’ what?”

  “Their dating, I suppose. Heck if I know, Nola. I didn’t know your father was even in the army.”

  “He went right after high school. I think.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Guess I’m not really sure. We never discuss it. Still, what’s the big deal? That was a long time ago.” A really long time ago. At least fifty years, because my parents had just celebrated their golden anniversary last year. Still, in this town, people were known to twist and turn things until they came up with their own version of the truth. And around here, rumors never really died. They just went dormant until something happened to spark a new tongue-wagging frenzy. Which is exactly what Clem’s murder was. The spark that ignited the fire and brought old gossip boiling to the surface. A foreboding feeling crept over me, settling in the pit of my stomach. With his health being the way it was, this was the last thing my father needed.

  “Nola? You okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because you’ve got a horrible look on your face.”

  “Yup. I’m fine.” I forced a tight smile, keeping my eyes on the road. “So who all was talking about this today?” I wanted to get to the bottom of this, quash it before it got out of hand.

  “Well, about everybody in the diner was talking about Clem’s murder.”

  “Yes, but what about the talk about my family?”

  “Well, don’t ask me who, because I can’t remember, but someone said they saw your brother and father coming out of the sheriff’s office yesterday. That’s when Frances got involved. She was sitting at her usual booth in front of the window.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, Frances asked if Clem and your daddy did business together or something, and one of the men spoke up and said it was about the opposite, that they’d been competing with each other. That Clem stole some peach deal right out from under your daddy.”

  “Was it Jack Snyder who said that?”

  “Yep. Believe so.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what happened. Daddy had been doing business with Jack, and Clem butted in with some ridiculous bid. Stole the contract from him.”

  “I see.”

  “But that’s not something to murder someone over!”

  “Of course not.”

  I’d reached the turnoff to Clem’s farm, so I slowed down a bit, wanting to make sure I got the whole story before we got there. “So, what was said then?” I prompted.

  She kept her gaze focused out the window. “Just what I said. Then those ladies brought up about how Clem and your mama must’ve dated when they were kids. They seemed to know your mama from way back when. Classmates probably.”

  “I got that. But what were their exact words?” I pulled up in front of the farmhouse and took the truck out of gear. When she didn’t respond, I asked again, “Ginny?”

  She turned my way, her eyes full of concern. “They said it wouldn’t be the first time Clem attempted to steal something from your daddy. Meaning your mama, I guess. And that it wouldn’t be the first time your daddy tried to kill him over it. Right after that, Frances hightailed it out of the diner, heading toward the sheriff’s office.”

  * * *

  While I knew it was the right thing to do, visiting the bereft always made me nervous. Even more so today, since what Ginny had just told me about Mama and Clem had left me completely unsettled. So, I trudged across the lawn, my legs heavy with dread as I followed Ginny to the farmhouse door. Truth be known, what I really wanted to do was turn tail and run home to find my parents and get to the bottom of all this nonsense about Mama and Clem Rogers. Because certainly, I was letting my imagination get away from me, spurred by trumped-up rumors spread by malicious gossipers. What was it Mama had said at the sheriff’s office? People in this town twisted things to fill their own decrepit appetite for ugliness? I thought back to those ladies in my shop, their double-talking innuendos becoming clear now. That’s all those women were—ugly, backstabbing witches, eager to bring others down to elevate their own sense of importance. Because there’s just no way my mama would ever be involved in something unseemly. Poor Mama. How hard it must be to know false rumors from the past were resurfacing, rearing their hideousness and, even worse, perhaps providing Maudy with yet more reason to pin this murder on Daddy. And as for Daddy trying to kill Clem way back when, well, if that was even true, I knew Daddy, and he’d have had good reason. First thing this evening, I’d have a sit-down with Mama. Reassure her, like she had me so many times, that the family was completely behind her. That we’d fight through this latest dilemma in true Harper fashion—together, united as one team.

  When we reached the house, I was surprised to find it wasn’t Tessa, but her boyfriend, Lucas, who answered our knock. His puffy eyes blinked a few times as he ran a hand through dark, wavy hair that was smashed flat above one ear. Sleep lines etched his cheeks and an odor of staleness drifted around him. “Tessa’s not up to seeing anyone right now,” he said, standing in the frame of the open door with his arms folded across his wrinkled T-shirt. “She’s still pretty upset.”

/>   Ginny pointed at her bag. “We understand. Just wanted to bring these by and say how sorry we are for her loss.”

  But before Ginny could hand over the goodies, Tessa appeared in the doorframe, her face pale and puffy and a throw blanket pulled around her shoulders like a shawl. “Mrs. Wiggins. Ms. Harper. It’s good of y’all to stop by. Come in, please.”

  Lucas sighed and stepped aside, motioning for us to follow them down a short hallway to a room that at one time must have been a parlor but had been revamped as a family room. It was decked out with a large-screen television, leather furniture and a modern glass coffee table. All great stuff, but a bit out of character for the flower-print wallpaper and wide farmhouse moldings. Or maybe that was just my perception. Except for the new davenport Mama bought last year, we really hadn’t updated for a few decades.

  “Sorry for the mess,” Tessa said, clearing a stack of magazines from an adjacent chair and inviting us to sit down. Ginny took the chair, while I settled into one corner of the davenport and Tessa sank heavily into the other. Lover boy hovered above us, a broody look on his face.

  Tessa peered up at him. “Would you mind clearing out some of these things, sweetie?” She nodded toward a row of empty beer bottles lining the coffee table. I counted at least seven before Lucas scooped them up and sauntered off, clinking like a Saturday night barmaid at the Honky Tonk. Not that I’d heard that sound for a while. I tried my best to avoid the Honky Tonk—too many unpleasant memories.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss, Tessa,” I said, my eyes glazing across the pile of magazines she’d tossed to the floor. I recognized one of them as the same magazine Hattie had showed us the day before. Was Tessa planning a wedding? I stole a glance at her ring finger. Bare. Probably just adolescent dreaming. It’d never been my thing, but I remembered Ida spending half of her teen years poring over bridal magazines and dreaming of her future wedding. I’d always been more of the National Geographic type. “How are you holding up?” I asked.